Two AM
by Verdreht
Summary: It's 2AM and Brian can't sleep. Dom's planning to change that. Can be seen as a Sequel/Epilogue to Fear of God, which is currently incomplete, or can be read alone for pure, unapologetic fluff. Dom/Brian slash


It's been a month since Brian busted him out of that prison transport, and if Dom hadn't been in love with him before, it hit him like a fucking freight train the moment he saw Brian behind the wheel of his Charger, his silver cross dangling on the rearview.

Two weeks later, they found a little place in a snake pit of a coastal town just south of Ensenada to settle down in. It's not much, but it's not bad, either: two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, a porch looking out at the ocean, and an attached garage big enough for both their cars and some extra work room to boot. It needs some work, but Dom's no stranger to DIY home repair, and it turns out, Brian's about as good with a hammer as he is with a wrench.

It's only been about a week, though, since Dom actually started letting him help with that stuff. That cut on his side's still tender, but it's closed up and the infection's gone, and _finally_ he can do more than kiss the damn Buster without worrying about hurting him. He still has times where he wants to rip the guy a new one for playing tough and pushing himself too hard – he hasn't topped that shit he pulled in the car on the drive down yet, nearly passing out like he did, but Dom's thinking it's only a matter of town – but for the most part, he's just glad to see him moving easier.

On the other hand, that's kind of the problem he's having.

See, he's learned a lot about the Buster while they've been together. He's learned the guy loves the beach, for one. Swimming, sunbathing, surfing – and that's a new development, but Dom's got to admit, Brian out on the waves is a sight to see – shit, even building sandcastles with some of the local kids…Brian loves all of it.

He's also learned that he's allergic to pine nuts and almonds, which he doesn't mind. He didn't even know what the fuck a pine nut was before all this, and he's never had a taste for almonds, so it's no big loss to him to keep them out of the cabinets. Which he does. Maybe a little bit fanatically. Truth be told, he's just glad it came up in conversation at the store, and he didn't have to find out the hard way. Because somehow, he doubts Brian walks around with an EpiPen or something like Jesse did for his bee allergy.

Although, he's strongly considering doing something about that, just in case.

He's learned that Brian hates being cold, too, which, being in Mexico isn't usually a problem. But at night, with the breeze coming in off the ocean, it can get a little bit chilly, and Brian apparently decided sometime in the past month that Dom's his own personal space heater, because he doesn't seem to have a problem sidling right up next to him when they're out having beers on the patio at night.

Dom doesn't have a problem with it, either.

He's learned a lot of other stuff, a lot of small things, and a couple big things – Brian's let a few things slip in conversation, and Dom knows that if he ever gets his hands on Brian's old man, he's gonna make that bastard bleed – and some of it's good, some of it's bad, but Dom takes it all, because Brian's _his_, and he fucking crazy about him. All of him.

He gets frustrated sometimes, though.

Brian's hard-headed as they come. He's stubborn, and he fights Dom on more shit than he agrees with him on, and sometimes, Dom just wants to pick him up and shake some sense into him. It's the same thing with that attitude of his. Everything just rolls off him; Dom can be yelling at him, and he'll have that cheeky-ass grin on his face. Or worse, that smirk, the one that makes his crazy blue eyes flash until Dom can't decide if he still wants to shake some sense into him, or if he wants to give that mouth of his something better to do.

He knew about all that coming in, though.

What he didn't know is that Brian...shit, he's a ball of energy. It's like he's got NOS in his veins – all that shit he drinks, maybe he does – always moving around. He's always got to be doing something, like he can't quite shut it all off. Like he can't relax.

Case and point?

It's nearly two in the morning, and Dom wakes up to the sound of scraping just outside his window. He knows the sound immediately. He and Brian have been working on fixing up the back porch, which means sanding away all the mildew and shit before they can put the stain and steal down, and after nearly a whole day hearing it, he's pretty sure that sound's gonna haunt his dreams.

Assuming he gets any fucking sleep.

This has to stop, Dom decides. It's not the first time he's caught Brian working past his bedtime, so to speak, and it's getting fucking ridiculous.

Sighing, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, pulls on a pair of jeans he had hanging on the arm of his chair, and pads out of his room and out to the front porch.

He stops in the doorway, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame. Sure enough, Brian's out there, taking some 80-grit sandpaper to one of the rails of the porch like it offended his mother. He's got a flannel shirt on over his t-shirt that Dom's pretty sure is actually his, and Dom can't help thinking it makes him look…small.

"What're you doing out here, Brian?" he asks, and he's actually not expecting Brian to jump like he does, and turn around.

Brian's got his brows furrowed, and he glances back at the rail he was just buffing like he's expecting it to back him up or something. "I was just—just finishing up," he says. His voice sounds kind of reedy, and in the light coming out from the kitchen, Dom can see his eyes are shadowed and bloodshot. His shoulders are hunched, and he rubs his stubbled cheek as he shifts from foot to foot.

He looks exhausted.

"You know what time it is, Bri?" Dom wants to sound – and be – annoyed, but it comes out patient, if maybe just a little exasperated. It'd be easier if he didn't look so damn pitiful, standing there on the porch like a lost puppy. If he didn't look so damn _young_.

Brian frowns. "Late?"

"Good guess."

Brian just frowns deeper. "'d I wake you up?"

He looks a little guilty now, too, and Dom knows he's pretty much fucked, because that's enough to kill any smartass retort he might've fired off on his lips. Instead, he just shakes his head, less to Brian's question, and more _at_ Brian in general. "Come on," he says, pushing off the doorframe, "come on to bed."

"But—" Brian glances back at the rail, then back at Dom, but Dom's already standing right in front of him. He slips an arm around Brian's thinner waist and pulls him close, while at the same time prying the handle of the sander from his fingers. "I'm not done," Brian protests, but it's all absent, and he's definitely not putting up much of a fight.

"Yeah, you are. You need sleep." Dom sits the newly-reclaimed sander up on the rail so that he can devote both hands to steering Brian back into the house. The Buster's so worn out, his feet drag across the mat, and he'd probably face-plant if it weren't for Dom's arm around his waist. He's definitely done, Dom decides. Any longer, and he's pretty sure he'd be walking out the next morning to find Brian sleeping on the damn porch.

"I'm not a kid, Dom," Brian mumbles halfheartedly.

Dom actually smiles a little at that, because Brian obviously can't seem himself right now. "'Course you're not." He just hates bedtime, loves sugar, and won't stop playing with his toys.

When they get to the hall, Brian starts to peel off and go for his own door. Dom keeps pushing him, though, farther down the hall, earning himself a confused look from his beat blond.

"Thought you said I need sleep." He thinks that might be a smirk on Brian's lips, but it's hard to tell.

Ah. So that's why he's confused. "Oh, you're sleeping," Dom tells him. "I'm making sure of it." No more late-night/early-morning work sessions; he's keeping Brian close tonight, so he can't sneak out.

Brian makes a sound in the back of his throat that Dom might think is an agreement – wonder of wonders – and that's the last he hears from him for a little while. He half-pushes, half coaxes Brian into his room and over to his bed, and he leaves Brian to get ready while he goes back to turn out the lights.

When he comes back in, Brian's sitting on the bed in the track pants he was wearing and his t-shirt, but the sneakers and flannel shirt are gone, so Dom counts it as a step in the right direction. He walks around to his side of the bed and steps out of his jeans before sliding back under the covers where, at two in the morning, he _damn well_ belongs.

A few seconds later, it occurs to him that Brian isn't. Where he belongs, that is. He's still sitting up, his back to Dom and his head bowed, and if it weren't for the tension in his lithe shoulders, Dom would think he'd fallen asleep sitting up or something.

He bites back a groan. Jesus Christ, it's too early for this shit. But then, it's Brian, so too early or too late, it doesn't matter.

"You plannin' on sitting there all night, or are you gonna lay down?" He stops just short of telling him to ditch the shirt while he's at it, because he's getting the feeling it's not gonna be that easy.

Wouldn't you know it, he's right.

"I can't."

"You what?"

"I can't," Brian repeats.

Dom sits up a little straighter. "I heard you the first time, Bri. What I'm asking for is clarification. What can't you do? Sleep?" He knows Brian's got sleeping trouble. Nightmares. He's heard him talking in his sleep, and shit, he gets it. But that doesn't mean he can let Brian stay up the whole damn night. He's already running on fumes; it won't be too much longer before he hits a wall. "You're beat, Buster."

"I mean I can't sleep _here_."

That piques Dom's interest. "Something wrong with my room?"

"Nah, man," Brian says quickly. "It's not like that."

"So what's it like?"

"You've never slept in the same bed as me."

Dom raises an eyebrow, even though he knows Brian can't see it. "You worried about your virtue or something? Because I hate to break it to you, but that ship's already sailed." A few times, actually, although strangely, Brian's right; they've haven't slept in the same bed yet.

But instead of an explanation, Brian just lets out a sigh and shakes his head. "Never mind."

Dom wants to call him on that, but Brian's already tugging his shirt over his head and sliding in under the covers, so Dom's thinking it can wait until morning after they've both gotten some shut-eye. With that in mind, he reaches over, flicks off the lamp, and settles back down to sleep.

About an hour later, Dom wakes up again. It's different this time, though. The sound is closer, and the bed's moving, and Dom feels his heart give a bit of a jump in his chest before his brain catches up enough to realize what it is.

Brian.

He's mumbling in his sleep, and that, Dom recognizes. Between the long ride down here to Mexico and the few days Brian spent fighting that fever from his side, he's heard it a few times. The moving's new, though, and in the little light coming in the window from the moon, he can just make out his shape beside him, tossing and turning.

Thinking about it as much as his drowsy, sleep-deprived head'll let him, he realizes he's seen that before, too. Even in the car, Brian was restless in his sleep. It's just different being next to him, feeling it as he shifts his weight one way or the other like he can't seem to get comfortable. His face is pulled tight, and his hair, already a good bit longer and blonder than it was back in LA, is all sorts of tousled.

Whatever's going on in that head of his, it doesn't take a psychic to know it ain't pretty.

His suspicions are confirmed when, soon as he lays a hand on Brian's shoulder to still him a little bit, he hears him inhale sharply. When he starts to sit up, though, Dom just holds him in place. It's probably stupid, but he feels like if he lets him up, he'll never get him back down, and Brian needs sleep. Hell, they both do.

So, he holds him there, moving his hand down from Brian's shoulder to wrap his arm around his waist and more or less pinning him back against his chest.

"Easy, Bri," he says, his voice low and quiet, and he takes it as a good sign when Brian doesn't freak out.

Instead, he blinks his eyes blearily and lets out a groggy-sounding, "hnn?" turning his head a little.

Dom meets him halfway, pressing his lips to the mark already coloring the place his jaw and his neck meet. "Go back to sleep," he tells him softly. He doesn't think he's actually all the way awake yet – that makes two of them – but just to be sure.

Miraculously, Brian doesn't argue. If anything, he snuggles back a little closer to Dom before settling back down, and Dom makes a note of that and stores it for later. Brian's a cuddler. That's new.

He can definitely work with it.

Pressing one last kiss to Brian's neck, Dom lets his head sink back to the pillow. The feel of a warm, firm body against his is…different, but he's thinking he could get used to it. He can feel the rise and fall of Brian's chest start to even out, and there's something hypnotic about it, because after pulling Brian a little closer, he follows him back to sleep.

Yeah, he thinks as the rhythm of the waves and Brian's strong, steady heartbeat against his chest pull him under, he could definitely get used to it

And he's thinking he's not the only one.


End file.
